


never to be rid of you (time is meaningless when you're not here)

by mercuryandglass



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Don't read if you're scared of the ocean, I managed more than three thousand words without angst, I refuse to foot dentist bills, M/M, This is stupidly soppy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryandglass/pseuds/mercuryandglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're 25, and Kei thinks that he might finally be content with life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never to be rid of you (time is meaningless when you're not here)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLittleMarchHare (freckleder)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleder/gifts).



> This is set assuming the events of Haikyuu! started the April before the manga first published, so Kei and Tadashi would have turned 16 in 2011, meaning this takes place in the summer of 2021. (This was mainly to mess with marriage legislation.)

“Where are we going?” Kei asks, only somewhat petulantly.

Tadashi doesn’t respond. Tadashi stopped responding half an hour ago after the third question.

Kei has not stopped asking the same question.

Every five minutes.

Like clockwork.

Kei locks his phone and picks up his iPod. He switches out Vivaldi for some American pop music. Kei watches for Tadashi’s wince at the sound of Ryan Seacrest’s voice.

Tadashi stretches the fingers on his left hand. He renews his grip on the steering wheel.

The first song that comes up is rap. Kei smirks. Tadashi sighs and turns down the volume.

Kei fully recognises that he is petty and terrible. That does not stop him from turning the volume back up.

Kei goes back to his phone game. His phone beeps and vibrates with a low battery warning. He checks Tadashi’s phone. It’s at eighty-three percent. He unplugs Tadashis phone and plugs in his own.

Kei’s hands shake a little. He puts his fingers under his thighs to gauge how cold they are. Kei turns down the air conditioning. He looks at the time: ten thirty-nine.

He waits.

“Where are we going?” Kei asks again as the digital number changes from nine to zero. He fully expects to be ignored again.

Instead, Tadashi signals and switches to the exit lane. “We’re almost there,” Tadashi says, and turns down the volume as the English voice introduces the next song.

It’s not quite an answer, but Kei doesn’t turn up the volume again.

Kei unlocks Tadashi’s phone and opens the same app he had been playing before. Upbeat soundtrack drowns out the quiet pop song.

Kei catches a magikarp and a shellder as Tadashi shifts into park. Kei looks up. “We’re at the beach.”

“We sure are, Tsukki.” Tadashi is entirely too good at deadpan. Kei has only himself to blame.

Tadashi opens his door, but Kei does not move. “Why are we at the beach?”

Tadashi grins, and it nearly blinds Kei with its intensity. Kei smiles back dumbly. “We’re going to have a picnic,” Tadashi says and steps out of the car. “Come help me with the cooler.”

Kei follows Tadashi around the car.

Together, they lay their things down in a secluded corner, Tadashi fussing about the view and Kei fussing about the branches digging into his backside.

“Why are we having a picnic at the beach?” Kei asks again.

Tadashi smiles again, quieter this time. He rubs at the back of his head, and hunches over slightly, a tell for embarrassment that he never quite got rid of. “Well, we’ve never been here together, even though we live so close, and I thought it would be fun. I know we don’t normally celebrate it, but...”

Kei smooths a thumb over the protrusion of a small box in his pocket, heat flooding his cheeks. “Ten years ago today, you kissed me for the first time.”

They’re both flushing now. Kei knows he must look like a tomato at this point. He links their hands together.

Tadashi coughs quietly. Kei looks at him. Staring back, Tadashi says, “Fifteen years ago, you told me your name.”

They kiss, briefly and sweetly, as people do.

They eat the ice cream first, before even putting on sunscreen, because the cooler doesn’t insulate that well, and most of the ice packs were already half melted. Kei uses up half of their napkin supply trying to maintain dignity. He, rather predictably, fails.

Tadashi wipes his hand on Kei’s legs. For good measure, he sticks his popsicle stick down Kei’s shirt.

Kei frowns and shakes it out. “Tadashi,” he pauses to wrinkle his nose, “eugh! It’s sticky!”

Tadashi just grins at him. “It’ll be fine once we start swimming.”

Kei blanks before realising that he should have seen this coming. “I don’t have swim trunks.”

Tadashi doesn’t stop grinning. “We’re the same size.”

Kei looks away to avoid Tadashi’s earnest expression. “We shouldn’t swim so soon after eating.”

Kei can _feel_ Tadashi raising an eyebrow. “That’s a myth, Tsukki, and it was only ice cream.” He pauses. “It’s hot out. Let’s swim.”

Kei braces himself and looks back. Tadashi has the tiniest fold of a frown. “I’d rather not,” Kei asserts.

Tadashi looks downright worried now. “What’s wrong, Kei?”

Kei looks away again. Then he speaks in an uncharacteristic mumble, “ _Idon’tknowhow_.”

“What?”

Kei doesn’t think his capillaries could handle a higher blood pressure. “I’ll change in the car,” he says instead.

Hopefully Tadashi will think he just didn’t like the thought of changing outside. Kei can just stick to the shallows or something. He takes the proffered swimwear and keys and trudges towards the car.

Kei returns to Tadashi awkwardly trying to reach the middle of his back with his fingers and not quite able to reach a few smears of white sunscreen. Kei finds the bottle and squeezes a dollop onto his palm, rubbing his hands to warm them. He smoothes the lotion over Tadashi’s back. Kei feels no small amount of satisfaction that Tadashi doesn’t flinch at the unannounced contact.

“Finished?” Kei asks.

Tadashi nods. “Your turn,” he says, all but smirking.

Kei resolutely does not pout. They both know how easily he burns, frying to a lobstery mess in minutes as his hair bleaches in the sun. Tadashi has probably already set up alarms every hour for reapplication. He does his limbs as Tadashi seals their phones in waterproof cases. Kei winces as he fails to fold his arms behind his shoulder blade. Tadashi looks up from where he was putting their things away.

“May I?” Tadashi asks.

Kei nods and awkwardly shuffles around, offering his back. He smears the excess sunscreen on his neck and hands Tadashi the bottle.

Tadashi’s hands are warm as they smooth down his back. Kei leans languidly into the touch. When Tadashi finishes, his fingertips are rough as they jab into Kei’s sides, startling a sound that was definitely _not_ a yelp. Kei stands up clumsily. He turns around and glares at Tadashi’s smirk. Tadashi hold out a hand. Kei frowns but, as he always does, pulls him up.

The sand is beautiful and fine, glittering under the midday sun. It is borderline unpleasantly hot beneath Kei’s feet as they walk to the water’s edge. Kei’s hand dangles close to Tadashi’s, brushing with every other step. He finds that it is almost as good as actually holding hands.

The beach is quiet, with few other people lounging about. A pair of twin boys bury their sister in sand as their parents look on from under the shade of a rainbow umbrella. Another family, likely tourists with their rapidfire english and red hair, splashes around a crooked sand castle. Six university students play a rudimentary game of volleyball with empty poles where the net should be.

Kei slows when they hit wet sand, fascinated by the texture. He bends down to scoop up a handful, only to let it fall back through his fingers. He wonders vaguely if extremely wet sand would make a non-newtonian liquid, or if quicksand is formed via other means. Tadashi scoops some up as well, evil expression on his face. Kei glares at the damp powder warily.

“Don’t you dare,” Kei warns. Sand like this would be impossible to wash out of his hair.

Tadashi dares.

Kei retaliates by dumping some down Tadashi’s trunks.

“ _Tsukki_!” Tadashi half laughs, half whines.

Kei smirks.

Tadashi runs into the water to rinse out the worst of it. Kei follows at a more sedate pace. The water is warmer than he expected.

Tadashi wades back and stares. Kei wriggles his toes in ankle deep water.

“It’s warm,” he says, voice more wondrous than he intended.

Tadashi smiles in reply, fondly, with that infuriatingly inscrutable expression that he sometimes wears. Kei tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow. Tadashi smirks and steps forward, holding out his hand. Tadashi yanks him further in as soon as Kei grabs hold of it.

The water is no longer warm at knee depth.

Kei makes a face at Tadashi, trying to convey his displeasure.

Tadashi grins, then laughs, open and amused. Kei forgets about the cold water at the flash of teeth and dimples.

Hands entwined, they venture further and further from land. The descent of the sand beneath their feet is unpredictable, and Kei loses his balance multiple times. He steps on more shells than he bothers to count and manages to stub his toe on a perfectly smooth stone. Tadashi starts to swim as soon as he was able and glides in circles around Kei’s slower progress.

Kei stops as he feels the sand beneath his feet gradually slope to a hidden shoal. He watches the waves break four or five meters away from him. Tadashi stops circling him like some strangely benign shark and lands beside him. The water laps just over Tadashi’s broad shoulders. It only barely reaches Kei’s sternum.

Kei remembers a brief few months in the second year of middle school when Tadashi had been the barest centimeter taller than Kei. Tadashi had slouched harder than usual until Kei asked what was wrong. He wore the same expression then as he did now.

“This is nice,” Kei offers.

The way Tadashi’s frown smoothes over tells Kei that he’d hit the mark; Tadashi was worried - probably still is - that Kei does not like this. He clasps their hand together underwater.

“Isn’t it?” Tadashi says, looking at the point where the sky met its mirror in the ocean while Kei looks at him. Droplets of water glisten as the sun hits Tadashi just right, like highlighted counterparts to his ever present freckles. Kei develops a strange desire to lick them - freckles or saltwater: he’s not picky. He suppresses this odd urge. He looks to the horizon again and starts climbing.

They’re at the top of the sandbank when it happens, wavefronts disappearing almost at their waists. The undertow drags Kei’s feet out from under him, and he panics, dragging Tadashi’s hand with him. Kei barely hears Tadashi’s yelp as he blinks his eyes closed against the stinging seawater. He tries to breathe for an idiotic second. It’s too late when he remembers to hold his breath, choking on drops of salt and brine in his lungs.

Then, after three seconds of eternity, he is lifted. Air suddenly starts to fill where water had been before. He coughs, loudly and repeatedly.

Tadashi’s voice filters in through the sound of Kei’s coughing and the roar of blood in his ears. “Tsukki, are you alright? Tsukki? Kei? _Kei_!”

Kei realises the position they’re in. Tadashi has lifted him by the waist, hoisting the upper half of his body above water. Kei leans over Tadashi’s back to a spectacular view of Tadashi’s bottom. Kei taps Tadashi’s back in repeated double knocks until Tadashi notices. He is set down gently, further down the shoal than Tadashi, so that they’re standing eye to eye. He’s still coughing a bit.

Tadashi just looks on worriedly.

“I’m good,” Kei gasps out between coughs.

Tadashi doesn’t look convinced. He mutters something darkly.

“What?” Kei asks as the coughs die down.

“I said, ‘I should have gotten you swimming lessons instead.’”

Kei doesn’t dignify that comment with a verbal response. He turns around and starts walking back towards their picnic - or so he thinks. He makes it about five steps before he notices something very, very wrong.

“Our stuff is about ten degrees to your right,” Tadashi says from behind.

Kei reaches up to the bridge of his nose, where his glasses are decidedly not present. A sharp edge, too sharp to be Tadashi’s well kept nails, pokes him in the shoulder. He takes his glasses and tries to wipe the water from them.

The water smears instead.

He puts them on anyway and, with the tattered remains of his dignity, turns according to directions, walking towards a vaguely green smear on a half-blurred patch of white that was the beach. He makes it a few more steps before hands place themselves gently on his shoulders and steer him just the slightest bit left, towards a different green smear.

“You’re really alright?” Tadashi asks meekly.

“Yes.” Kei’s voice is noticeably raspier than before. He nods to emphasise.

Tadashi follows him silently after that.

Nobody looks at Kei weirdly when they get back to shore, so presumably they were too far out for anyone to see. He glances at the lifeguard chair. It is empty. The lack of people explains itself now.

He briefly remembers back to the first year of university, to a month where Tadashi had been busier than usual. Lifeguard training, Tadashi had mentioned in passing. Kei breathes a sigh of relief.

He feels Tadashi tense next to him, probably misinterpreting the sigh. Kei metaphorically grasps for what little courage he might have.

“Thank you,” he says.

Tadashi looks at him, surprised.

Kei forces a smile. Tadashi was probably blaming himself.

“You know,” Kei adds. “Thanks for saving my life and all.” He ends it on a smirk, inviting Tadashi to smile as well.

Tadashi grins, and Kei feels the fist around his heart loosen.

They wipe the sand from their feet and reapply sunscreen. Kei shrugs on a thin shirt for good measure. Tadashi opens the cooler and takes out two wrapped sandwiches and three steamed buns with unidentified filling.

Kei examines the sandwich Tadashi hands him. It consists of three slices of cold cut roast beef, the green part of a romaine lettuce leaf, and one slice of tomato on white bread. It is cut perfectly in half with the left side a mirror of the right. Kei smiles at Tadashi. Tadashi rolls his eyes at him.

In the time Kei takes to finish the left side of his sandwich, Tadashi eats his sandwich and a steamed bun that turns out to be chicken. Tadashi hands him a steamed bun with a red dot on top. Kei takes the pork bun and exchanges the right side of his sandwich for it.

When they both finish their admittedly lopsided portions, Tadashi pulls out a final item from the cooler: a quarter of a watermelon. Kei beams at Tadashi, who rolls his eyes again.

Tadashi hands Kei a penknife, and Kei saws it into two very very large pieces. Tadashi shakes his head and toss Kei the rest of the napkins before cutting his share into more manageable portions.

Kei sacrifices the barest remainder of his daily dignity for a good cause and cajoles Tadashi into covering his back with sunscreen again. Tadashi leaves to swim some more while Kei doses in the afternoon sun.

Tadashi is shaking him awake after what seems like a blink. “Do you want to wash off? I booked us a room.”

Kei nods groggily.

“Clean up, alright? I’ll check in and get you your keys.”

They’ve done this before. Tadashi always checks in for them because Kei has a potentially feminine given name, so the clerks would think nothing of the single bed. He’d get two room keys and give one to Kei. They would enter separately, and leave separately.

Marriage might be legal, but not everyone likes it. Kei gets too confrontational too easily for them to risk many such encounters. Kei thinks guiltily to the little box in his jeans’ pocket. Kei is ready. Kei doesn’t know if Tadashi is yet. They had been waiting to be less tight on money before telling Tadashi’s parents. Kei wonders how long Tadashi saved up for today. Maybe as long as Kei did.

Kei contemplates the Yamaguchi family’s reactions. Tadashi’s sister likes Kei well enough, but Tadashi’s father barely even approves of their friendship. Tadashi’s mother still calls Kei the “shy foreign boy”, even after fifteen years.

It’s all so very unfair. Tadashi deserves more. Tadashi deserves better.

Kei’s mom already knows. Kei’s mom just wants her problem child to be happy. Akiteru is happy for them. He always thought Tadashi was good for Kei. Kei’s dad wouldn’t care. Kei’s dad is too dead to matter.

Kei wonders not for the first time why he got all the luck. Kei packs up the picnic and arrives at the car at the same time as Tadashi returns from the front desk.

Tadashi hands him a packed overnight bag from the trunk and the room key. “Stairs on your right, second floor,” he directs.

Kei grabs his iPod and stack of clothing from the car and stuffs it into the bag before leaving.

The rooms aren’t lavish, but they are clean. Kei showers quickly, washing the salt and sand from his skin and hair in rough motions.

He glances in the mirror on his way out of the bathroom. His nose is pink, and so are the tops of his shoulders. His back probably is as well. Nothing hurts though, so he counts it a success. With luck he’ll be more gold than pale by the time the redness fades.

He switches out with Tadashi, who came in whilst he showered, and he rifles through their bags for after sun lotion. It turns out that Kei didn’t need to when, after going through all the bags, he finds it sitting beside the lamp.

Kei does his best to smooth it over his face and shoulders, eyes stinging slightly from the fumes. He gives up on his back and waits for Tadashi to come out. He watches the analogue clock on the wall. The seconds tick by.

The shower stops, and Tadashi exits the tiny bathroom in splendour and steam. Droplets of water cling to his shoulders. He is clothed only in a towel around his hips.

Kei remembers suddenly that he is nude. He opens his bag and pulls on the boxers from this morning. He hopes his blush can be disguised as sunburn. He recognises his wishful thinking when he glances down at pink fingers.

“Tadashi,” Kei says, _not_ whining. He holds out the bottle of aloe gel.

“Tsukki,” Tadashi mocks. He takes the aloe gel and gestures for Kei to roll over.

Kei’s compliance is rewarded with cool fingers massaging soothing lotion into his upper back. He falls asleep like that, quiet and content.

Kei wakes up to Tadashi’s hand rocking his shoulder and his voice calling his name. He makes an inquisitive noise.

“We should go get dinner, Kei,” Tadashi murmurs, voice as gentle as his hands.

Kei considers for a second, then nods.

Steady fingers place his glasses on his face. Kei almost blurts it out right then, _I love you; let’s get married_. He manages to hold his tongue.

Tadashi is wearing what he wore earlier that morning, so Kei redons his clothing as well. It won’t be a formal event. Kei is glad that it feels almost like a normal night out. It makes everything seem easier, like it was meant to be.

Tadashi skips to and from dinner, elated with the success of the day. Kei trails behind, as in love as he was ten years ago.

Falling in love with Tadashi was probably a slow process. Kei doesn’t know. Kei doesn’t remember falling in love with Tadashi. Maybe he always was - in love, that is.

Realising that he was in love with Tadashi, though, had been sudden. It had been obvious, like finally seeing the difference between two almost identical images. It was as conspicuous as the way Tadashi had yelled at him. It was realising that somehow, despite hours of self-conditioning, Yamaguchi had become Tadashi.

They go on a walk along the deserted beach. Light from a perfectly crescent moon illuminates their path. Stars twinkle resiliently even so close to the city.

“I like this,” Tadashi says, startling Kei out of his reverie.

Kei looks at the night sky, then at the rippling reflection in the sea, then back to Tadashi. His gaze lingers as he says, “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

Kei can’t tell if Tadashi is flushing, but their linked fingers draw tighter together.

Eerily, Tadashi stares right back at Kei. “The moon is bright tonight.”

It’s Kei’s turn to hide a blush with the dark. He swings their hands a bit more, incongruous with their synced steps along the wet sand.

Kei thrusts his free hand into his pocket, fingering the box there. He braces himself and pulls it free. It’s now or never.

If this isn’t love, then love is something Tsukishima Kei does not need.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. You're welcome for not making this angst. There's a vague sequel planned wherein they deal with Tadashi's parents, so if y'all really want angst I can think on it more.
> 
> 2\. I repeat, I refuse to foot dentist bills.
> 
> 3\. I'd like to thank the squad for betaing. I'll link them after the reveals to preserve anonymity.


End file.
